


it's beautiful after the end

by majesdane



Category: Bishoujo Senshi Sailor Moon | Pretty Guardian Sailor Moon (Anime), Sailor Moon - All Media Types
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-08-08
Updated: 2008-08-08
Packaged: 2017-12-06 09:14:39
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,788
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/734021
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/majesdane/pseuds/majesdane
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>The world will end in floods. And it will wash away the blood on the streets.</i>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	it's beautiful after the end

**Author's Note:**

> Written to fulfill a kink prompt of "incest". Dub!verse, but virtually in name only. Any inconsistencies are intentional.

to some we seem like colder creatures, well,  
we were warm until we went to hell  
\-- 'hourglass,' the hush sound

"don't you sometimes wonder if it's worth all this? i mean, what you're fighting for."  
"you might as well question why we breathe. if we stop breathing, we'll die. if we stop fighting our enemies, the world will die."  
\-- casablanca (1942)

 

 

She's been a soldier for so long, she can't remember what it was like before this.

Well, that's partially a lie. She remembers bits and pieces here and there, and she can remember general ideas and feelings, but what she really can't remember is what it was like before all of this. She can't remember what it was like to not be fighting, to not transform and feel the power sweeping over her, flooding her senses. She doesn't remember what it was like not fall asleep beside someone else, to feel fingers sliding against her skin, to feel soft lips pressed against her own.

And what she does remember, she wishes she didn't.

She can remember art exhibits and violin recitals and never spending more than a month at home because she was always traveling. She was a prodigy, they said; a girl who could master the most difficult musical pieces, ones that took professional musicians years to perfect, and a girl who could paint the most magnificent works of art. She always painted water; always, always. When she wrote music, she wrote it to sound like the ocean, the ebb and flow of the tide. She was fascinated by it, for reasons she didn't understand.

Her parents showed her off, more impressed by her talents than she was. Adults admired her for them, her peers hated her because of them . At school she sat at her desk, taking notes when she felt like it, filling the margins of her notebook with musical notes and lyrics and sketches. During breaks she stayed quiet, though she could hear the whispers around her, could feel people's eyes on her back.

She didn't have friends. She didn't want them.

There were people who admired her, girls in school who were awed by her talents, who talked about her in giddy tones among themselves. She heard them in the hallways, replied to their 'hello's with a slight nod. But they kept their distance and she never bothered herself to care enough about them.

There were dreams, too, eventually.

Nightmares, really. She dreamt of cities crumbling, of bodies lying in the streets. She saw herself at a distance, bloodied and bruised, but it wasn't really her. Not-Michelle was dressed in an outfit like her school uniform, and was fighting something she couldn't distinguish. The air felt cold and heavy. Dead. And then not-Michelle fell to the ground, and not-Michelle was bleeding out onto the cement. And then ---

She always woke up before the dream had played itself out entirely. She'd be drenched in sweat, sheets clinging to her body, trying to catch her breath and tell herself that it was all just a dream. Once she painted it, a huge picture of the ocean rising up, about to drown a war-torn city. _The End of the World_ , she called it.

The world will end in floods. And it will wash away the blood on the streets.

;;

When they meet again, after the race, it's been nearly ten years.

She clutches her sketchbook nervously, staring down at the ground submissively, as Elza approached the sandy-haired girl. When she at last dares a look, her eyes darting upward, they're met with bored teal ones. And then Amara was talking, and Elza was talking, but Michelle wasn't really paying attention. Her heart was racing and all she could think of was that this was _her_. Her partner in battle, another lonely soul. Michelle clutches her notebook tighter, taking a step forward, trying not to appear too eager.

"I don't think Amara appreciates where she comes from," she says, cocking her head to the side and grinning at the taller girl, who sighs and puts a hand on her hip, looking irritated.

"That's nonsense," Amara says, and there's a slight tone to her voice. Threatening.

Their eyes lock, and for a moment, it's as if nothing else exists. In the back of her mind, Michelle can hear the sound of the ocean, the splash of the waves as they crash onto the shore. And just as she can hear that, she is sure too that Amara can hear the wind rustling. She can feel the power flowing from her; the soldier in her yearns to reach out and just . . . touch her, if only that.

And now Amara is refusing to be a part of it all. It's sickening.

"I've made my decision," the blond says, frowning and turning away, her track bag slung over her shoulder.

Michelle bows her head and lets her walk away, crestfallen. She thought maybe if she'd gotten a chance to see her cousin, to talk to her, then maybe she could . . . she doesn't even know what she wanted. She wants just to _talk_. It's been ten long years since they've last seen each other. Michelle had focused on music and painting, while Amara blossomed in everything involving speed: track and field, motor racing. She was drawn to her element just as Michelle was drawn to hers. Michelle was angry. Why couldn't Amara just see that this was a part of her? Why did she have to deny it like she did?

Of course, Michelle reminds herself, when she herself had first discovered she was a Sailor Scout, she'd been angry too. Angry and sad. This was not something that she wanted to do. She was an artist, not a soldier; she didn't want the blood of innocents staining her hands. But she never denied it -- that was one thing she never did. It was cruel and unfair and she didn't want any part of it, but she accepted it. She had to. This was her duty, to forfeit her own happiness for the happiness of others.

This was the cross she had to bear.

;;

A week later they meet again, on a cruise ship where Michelle is performing.

On stage, through the glare of the lights, she can see Amara sitting at one of the tables in the back. She looks rather uncomfortable; stirring the drink in front of her with her straw, constantly shifting in her seat. Michelle never once takes her eyes off of her, and as she sees Amara stand up and walk off the main deck, she thanks God that the piece is almost over. She curtsies quickly before hurrying off the stage, as the audience breaks out into applause, shattering the silence that had fallen.

They meet at _The End of the World_.

Amara's standing on the stairs in front of it, staring at it. Mesmerized by it. Michelle slips in quietly, taking a seat on a lower level of stairs; she watches Amara for a moment or two before saying anything, surprised at how well the black tuxedo suits Amara's slender frame. She always looked boyish, even when she was younger, but right now she looks downright masculine. If Michelle didn't know she was a girl, she would have thought Amara was a boy.

The thought is enticing.

"Do you like it?" She asks after a moment.

The blond doesn't seem surprised at all to see her sitting there. "What's with this bleak painting?" She asks, stuffing her hands into her jacket pocket. "I thought you were always Miss Blue Skies. 'The End of the World?' It doesn't suit you." She chuckles. "The world ending in floods. You always paint water. I wonder why that is."

Michelle keeps her tone even. "You always do things involving speed. Why is _that_?"

Amara frowns and doesn't answer.

"You can't keep running forever," Michelle says softly, after a time. "This is a part of you as it's a part of me. No matter what you do, it'll always be there with you. You can't run away from it." She stands, clasping her hands in front of her, eyes fixed on Amara. "We are who we are."

" _Don't say that_." Amara is angry now. Defensive. "You don't know me at _all_. I'm the greatest junior racer in Japan; I have a life, Michelle. Dreams and aspirations and goals. And now some higher power expects me to just give that all up, just like that? Well, _fuck_ that. I don't want that kind of life. I'm not a soldier. If _you_ want to be a slave to destiny that's fine, but leave me out of it. I want no part of it."

Now Michelle was angry. It was understandable that Amara didn't want to give up her life for a cause she didn't believe in, but it was unfair to imply that Michelle was perfectly okay with it. Didn't Amara realize that she wasn't the only one who suffered? That Michelle herself had long ago put away her dream of being a violinist in order to be a soldier?

She bites her lip and turns her face away, trying to fight back tears.

"You're so selfish," she says, hurt.

"And you're weak," Amara says.

;;

She's bleeding.

The wounds probably aren't _that_ deep, she thinks, as Amara kneels beside her, picking her up off the ground and cradling her in her arms. But they hurt like hell, and oddly enough all she can think about right now is how she's going to be able to de-transform into her school uniform and make it back home without bleeding all over everything. And then she remembers the daimon.

"The monster -- ?" She asks, exhausted, faint from blood loss.

"It's alright," Amara says quietly, glancing over at the unconscious boy slumped over in the corner of the garage. "The boy's okay," she reassures her.

Michelle manages a weak smile. "I'm glad. It's hard, you know. Being a soldier. Fighting these battles." She pauses, taking a breath, steadying herself. "I'm afraid that someday I'm going to kill someone. But this is the only way . . . "

Amara holds her closer. She can feel the blond's heart racing. She takes another shaky breath and continues.

". . . It's not like I wanted this," Michelle says, tears in her eyes. "But it was the duty that I accepted. The cross I was destined to bear. I didn't want to see someone have to give up their life as I had to. But, still," she continues, "I was happy when I found out that you were the one. My partner."

Amara looks away uncomfortably. "You shouldn't have protected me," she says softly. "If you'd gotten hurt . . . "

". . . I don't care about getting hurt," Michelle sighs, feeling weak. "I just -- "

A short time later, Michelle opens her eyes and finds herself lying on the couch in her apartment, Amara sitting on the floor beside her, looking anxious. I must have fainted, she thinks, and then flinches, remembering the wounds she'd received earlier from the daimon attack.

"Oh, good, you're awake," Amara says, breathing a sigh of relief. "You just fainted and I didn't know what to do -- and I thought, maybe I should call a hospital, but I was afraid of doing that. So I just thought I'd bring you back here. I used your keys to get us in, " she explains. "Anyway, thankfully somehow you managed to de-transform yourself when you fainted, so."

Michelle looks down at herself, as if to confirm that she is in fact not still dressed in her soldier uniform. "Oh, that's good," she says, after a moment. "But it's going to be awful trying to get the bloodstains out."

"You know, you shouldn't have done that," Amara says suddenly. "Saving me, I mean. Really, what were you thinking? You could have been seriously injured."

Michelle smiles weakly. "It was worth it though, wasn't it? I mean, here you are."

Amara chuckles and flashing Michelle a brilliant smile. "So am I supposed to assume that this was all some elaborate ploy to get me to come back home with you?"

Michelle flushes, looking away.

"N-no," she stammers, flustered. "I just meant . . . . I'm happy. I'm glad that you're a soldier now too. I'm glad that now you aren't running away from your responsibilities. I sort of hated you before, you know. I thought you were selfish, that you didn't care about anyone else but yourself. But I know now that's not true. And," she reaches up and puts her hand against Amara's face, cradling it. "You're actually kind of sweet."

Now it was Amara's turn to blush.

"I'm only being nice to you because you got hurt," she lies, though rather unconvincingly, and it makes Michelle smile.

;;

Everything's different after that.

Amara moves into Michelle's apartment, and _that's_ definitely different. Michelle isn't used to waking up to the smell of coffee in the morning, though admittedly, it is a nice thing to wake up to. What's even nicer, she says, when she wants to tease Amara, is that she now has a ride to school; Amara always pretends to pout when she says this, claiming that that's the only reason Michelle associates with her.

"Oh, you're so right," Michelle always says, in response to Amara's pouting. "If it weren't for your car, I'd have already tossed you out onto the streets; you're nothing to me without it."

It's quite the opposite though, in reality. As the days, then weeks, pass, Michelle finds herself growing fonder and fonder of Amara. She'd never been close with her cousin, and the years they'd spent apart hadn't done anything to improve that. And they were so vastly different; sometimes she forgets that they actually _were_ related. Amara simply just doesn't _feel_ like a cousin. She often wonders if Amara feels the same way about her, and she hopes that she does.

For when she gets right down to it, Michelle knows that her love for Amara isn't the type of love one felt towards a cousin. Well, not the type you were _supposed_ to feel, at any rate. There's a deeper sort of feeling to it, and when her hands long to reach out and run her finger along Amara's lip, tracing their shape, well, that is something completely different. And while thoughts of that send an excited thrill through her, at the same time, she realizes with a sinking feeling that she's done something she never should have done.

She's fallen in love with Amara.

It was crazy. Ridiculous, really. After all they were family, so of course they'd be close. It was normal to love someone who you were close to -- and related to, she reminds herself; not just close to, actually _related_ to -- it didn't necessarily mean anything. But she knew that her love was not a familiar type one and there was really no use in trying to deny it.

And so she starts to keep her distance from Amara. She pulls away if Amara tries to touch her, refrains from doing anything like that herself. She doesn't even so much as tussle Amara's hair in the morning like she used to, when the blond's in the kitchen eating breakfast. Michelle feels sorry that she has to do this, but she's afraid that this love she has will just grow to be too overwhelming, and she's afraid of what may happen if it does.

"Seriously, did I do something wrong?" Amara asks, a month later at dinner. "I mean, you've been really distant for a while now, and you barely ever talk to me any more, and I don't know why. Fuck, I don't care if you're mad at me, I just want to know if you are. And why."

Michelle stirs her tea, concentrating on the little whirlpool the the motions of the spoon make, keeping her eyes lowered so that she doesn't have to look at Amara. She can't say why she's been acting like this, so instead she says nothing at all, deciding that that's the best course of action.

Amara frowns. "Is it our mission? Because, you know, it scares me too, thinking about it. The end of the world can only be prevented by killing innocents. The whole 'the needs of many outweigh the needs of the few' idea. I mean, I know it has to be done, but to think about killing someone, well. And I don't -- "

" -- Amara," Michelle cuts in quietly. "It's not about all of that."

"Oh."

Michelle sighs, pushes herself away from the table. She moves across the room and goes to stand at the window, looking out into the city. The sun is setting, and the sky is a brilliant mix of orange, red, and yellow hues. She can see the ocean, off in the distance. She likes the way the light glints off the water.

Then suddenly Amara's behind her, sliding her arms around Michelle's waist protectively. Michelle stiffens at the touch; she hopes Amara doesn't notice.

"Really, what's wrong Michelle?" Amara asks quietly. "Am I not your cousin? Your partner in battle? Why won't you open up and tell me what's bothering you?"

Michelle closes her eyes, fighting back tears. "It's not something I can just talk about," she says, a bit forcefully. "And it's not something you would understand, so if you could just drop it, that'd be really nice."

"Fine."

Amara releases her and Michelle turns around, meeting her eyes, her heart racing.

"I'm sorry," Michelle says, unhappily. "It's just . . . I can't even explain it to you. Sorry."

Amara shrugs. "Whatever, Michelle, it's cool." She turns to leave.

"Wait -- " Michelle grabs Amara's arm, pulls her back.

There's a moment when they're both just staring at each other, caught in a sudden silence.

And then Michelle's kissing Amara, standing on tiptoe and pressing their lips together chastely.

It's over too soon, but Michelle's too nervous to even think about that. Her stomach is doing flip-flops, and oh, God, what if Amara _hates_ her now? She won't be able to live with her any longer, and things will always be awkward between them, and she's just put the mission, the fate of the world, _everything_ in jeopardy. All with one small, stupid little kiss.

But then, suddenly, Amara's kissing her again, and she can't even believe it, because this is so surreal, and it just _has_ to be a dream. She wraps her arms around Amara's waist, pulls her closer, and she can feel Amara's heart racing as well, and she knows this just can't be a dream, because no dream could be this good.

"But, I." Michelle tries to collect her thoughts, after Amara pulls away. "So . . . Is this -- are we -- okay?"

Amara gives her that smile, the one that means she thinks Michelle's being dumb. "No, of course it isn't. And yes, we are."

"This isn't going to be easy," Michelle laments, with a sigh, leaning against Amara and resting her head against her chest.

"Easier than what's to come," Amara says. "But we can't let this interfere with our mission, Michelle. We can't forget what we have to do."

"I know." Michelle looks up at the blond. She reaches up, running her fingers through Amara's short, sandy-colored hair, and pulls her down for another kiss.

;;

Michelle hates switching schools.

She knows that this is necessary, for the mission, but she hates it anyway. It's not that there's anything tying her to the school she's at now, but she doesn't want to take entrance exams. She's one of the few who is, too; since her school has both a junior and high school, there's no need for current students to apply to get in. Michelle's not worried about the exam, though; she knows she'll do fine on it. It's just that she hates the whole idea of having to meet new people, to be assigned to a different class, to have to endure people trying to be her friend when she wants nothing more than to be alone.

She has Amara; she doesn't need anyone else.

But Infinity Academy is apparently the headquarters of the enemy they've been fighting, so they must go there. They need to be near the enemy, Amara says, so that they can watch them more closely. They need to investigate them much more, too, since they don't even know for sure what it is the enemy -- they don't even know for sure who they're fighting against is called -- wants.

And so she dons the school uniform -- plaid green skirt, maroon blouse, navy collar, plaid scarf -- and tells herself that this is all for the best. Besides, she thinks, a change of scenery could possibly have its benefits. She's heard that Infinity Academy is know for being a 'talent' school, where all the prodigies go. Such a school would be surely be able to accommodate any of her needs; she thinks that it would be nice to have more free time to practice violin.

Amara wears the boy's uniform, of course. Michelle adores how how good she looks in it.

"So are you going to let everyone think you're a guy?" She asks, as they sit in Amara's car outside the school, preparing themselves for their first day of classes.

"Maybe," Amara says thoughtfully. "I'm not sure, though. Should I?"

Michelle grins. "And miss seeing all the girls crushing on you because of it? Not a chance."

Amara looks surprised. "Oh? Won't you be jealous?"

"Well, a bit," Michelle admits with a small smile. "But I know nothing will come of it."

She leans across the seats, stealing a quick kiss.

That's all they've done so far is kiss. At night they share a bed, but they're never gone much further than that. Sometimes late at night, after they've come back from a battle, they fall into bed, desperate for contact, and end up making out more intensely than usual. But they've yet to take the next step. It's not for a lack of wanting to, it's just that they've both decided that it has to be done right. Neither of them wants to rush it, and there's a fear lingering in the back of Michelle's mind that causes her to worry that she won't be good enough, or she'll mess something up, and Amara won't want to be with her any longer.

It's nonsense, of course. But she can't help but worry.

And then Elza is attacked.

Michelle and Amara had wondered for a time if Elza was going to have her Pure Heart Crystal targeted; after all, the enemy seemed to favor prodigies or famous people or simply those who were more exceptional or dedicated in one field than anyone else. But they never really expected it to happen, so when it did, they were both a little shaken up.

They managed to defeat the daimon rather easily, though Sailor Moon and the rest of the Sailor Scouts hadn't been much of a help. They protested when Neptune took Elza's Pure Heart, as they always did, but Neptune handed it back to them a moment later; it wasn't one of the Talismans they were looking for.

It's still scary, though.

It's the first time they've ever had to deal with this sort of situation, the first time they've ever had to prepare themselves for the fact that someone they're close to will have to die. It's easier to think about letting a complete stranger die for the cause (though not _that_ easy), but it's another thing all together when it's someone you know. Elza, after all, was the only girl from school that Michelle had ever been friends with, and she was the person who'd reunited her with Amara.

She has to admit, therefore, that she's more than a little relieved when it turns out that Elza isn't the owner of a Talisman, even though she knows she should be disappointed for the very same reason. But she knows that Amara was happy about it as well, even if she didn't show it.

Driving along the coastline in Amara's car on the highway beside the ocean, the setting sun framing the water, she looks over at Amara and tries to imagine what it'd be like if this hadn't happened to them. If they hadn't been destined for this, hadn't become soldiers, hadn't fallen in love. And she can't imagine it at all.

That night, when they fall into bed, they don't just stop at kisses.

Amara presses her knee up between Michelle's thighs, and Michelle gasps, running her fingers through Amara's hair. Neither of them speak; they don't need too. Michelle undoes the buttons on Amara's shirt slowly; Amara slides her hands up Michelle's maroon blouse, hesitantly cupping her breasts through her bra. Michelle moans, and she pulls Amara to her, kissing her fiercely. Amara removes her shirt, lets it fall to the floor beside the bed. She pushes Michelle's shirt up, up to her neck. Michelle sits up, to help her take it off. It joins Amara's shirt on the floor, and a moment later, their bras follow suit.

Amara bows her head and takes one of Michelle's nipples in her mouth, sucking on it experimentally. Michelle twists on the bed beneath her touch, hands running down Amara's back and cupping her ass, pulling her hips in closer and grinding against them.

"God, I love you," she imagines saying, as she's pulling Amara's head down and kissing her. Amara tastes like peppermint and vanilla, and Michelle swoons.

They move slowly, purposefully. Naked, they lie in bed and clutch each other, their tongues meeting and dancing as they kiss. Amara shifts, sucking slowly on Michelle's ear, while her hand slides deftly between Michelle's legs, causing Michelle to gasp out her lover's name. Amara enters her slowly with a single finger, then pulls out again just as slowly; Michelle digs her nails into her back. Gradually her movements quicken and she adds another finger, feeling the wetness between her own legs and moaning. She presses her thumb against Michelle's clit, eliciting an "oh, _God_ " from the smaller woman.

Amara pulls her hand away.

"Oh, why'd you stop?" Michelle gasps out, faced flushed and sweaty.

Amara doesn't answer, simply slides down further, dragging her tongue along down the flat plane of Michelle's stomach. She grips Michelle's thighs firmly and spreading the girl's legs further apart, before lowering her head,taking Michelle's clit into her mouth and sucking gently on it. Michelle arches, gasping, into her mouth. Her head's spinning and oh, all she can think of is how Amara's tongue is on her, moving in slow, deliberate strokes, and she clutches at the sheets, wanting more. And then Amara slips her fingers back inside and Michelle thinks that she may die or come or _something_ , because this feeling is so much more than she can take.

And then she _does_ come, bucking up into Amara's mouth, calling out her lover's name.

"You okay?" Amara whispers in her ear, stroking Michelle's arm gently, holding her while she comes down from her orgasm.

Michelle smiles. "Better than 'okay.'"

Amara seems pleased at that. "So I was good, then? Well, not good but, satisfactory, at least? I mean, this is the first time I -- well, I wasn't sure I -- didn't know -- "

Michelle cuts her off with a kiss.

"You were fine," she says softly. "Stop worrying. Now," she continues, with a smirk, as her hand slides between Amara's legs, wetness coating her fingertips. "I think I should get a turn."

;;

On one lazy Friday afternoon, when it's a bit warmer out than usual, Michelle and Amara run into Serena and one of her friends at the Crown Fruit Parlor. Well, they don't so much as run into them as they happen to be sitting in there enjoying a cup of coffee when Serena and her friend sit down beside them.

They can't help but overhear, of course, not with the way Serena manages to talk as loud about everything as often as she does. The girls are talking about true love and first kisses, and Michelle and Amara both shoot each other knowing glances and laugh at how innocent they are. Which, of course, causes Serena to notice them, and then suddenly both her and her friend -- Elizabeth, Michelle thinks it was -- are leaning over the divider between the two booths and asking them about kisses.

"I remember my first kiss," Michelle says, gazing off into the distance dreamily. "It was with Brad, the cutest boy in school." She pauses, pretending to think about it. "I wonder where he is now," she says thoughtfully, while looking at Amara pointedly across the table, who grins and tries not to laugh.

"That's so romantic," Serena and Elizabeth sigh.

"Surprising, isn't it?" Amara says, putting her elbows on the table and resting her chin onto of her intertwined fingers. "Michelle being romantic. A first kiss, though," she says thoughtfully. "That's something that you want to cherish."

Outside, Michelle drags Amara into an alley, pushing her up against the cement wall and kissing her forcefully. She bites down on Amara's lip, hard enough to draw blood; she licks it away delicately, before resuming the kiss, her tongue into Amara's mouth insistently. Neither of them care if anyone can see them; a stranger would think they were just a couple necking. Nothing more than that. Michelle grins into the kiss, thinking about it.

"We need to find Lita," Amara moans, a bit louder than she should, as Michelle trails kisses along her neck. "She might be the owner of a pure heart."

Michelle pulls away, trying to look angry and failing miserably."You always ruin the perfect moments," she says, tugging playfully on Amara's tie. "But you're right. We should go look for her."

"'Brad?'" Amara asks, smirking, once they're in her car driving along the highway. " _Really_?"

"Oh, hush," Michelle says. "What was I supposed to say?"

Amara laughs. "I don't care, really. I just find it really amusing, that's all." She pauses and looks over at Michelle, grinning broadly. "However, 'the cutest boy in school' . . . that's definitely the truth."

Michelle smiles . "See, this is why I love you," she says, putting her hand on top of Amara's. "You're just so modest."

"It's just one of my many positive traits," Amara laughs, winking at her.

"Mmm, yes, Brad."

;;

The battles don't seem to be getting any easier.

Apparently this worries Michelle much more than Amara, because the latter shrugs it off every time Michelle brings up the subject. But the truth is, they _have_ been getting more and more difficult. The daimons are evolving, somehow. They've gone from being pure genetic regressions to intelligent foes, ones that actually think while fighting. They've gotten more ridiculous too, Michelle thinks, and she can't help but wonder if perhaps who's ever in charge of their design is more than a bit crazy.

But the thing that worries her about the stronger enemies is the fact that she and Amara can no longer defeat the daimons on their own. Before, back when they were still just genetic regressions, before Amara had even awakened as Sailor Uranus, Michelle had been able to defeat enemies with a single _Deep Submerge_ attack. And then, eventually, the daimons got stronger, so she and Amara had to combine their attacks in order for them to be successful. And now even _that_ wasn't enough; now they had to rely on Sailor Moon to finish their work for them.

It was sickening.

"Don't worry so much about things like that," Amara told her, lying in bed, arms crossed up above her head. "We need to get the Talismans -- that's all we need to be concerned about. And Sailor Moon serves a well-enough purpose as a distraction for the enemy, so what's the bother? As long as we're able to carry out our mission successfully, I'm satisfied."

"But, see, that's just the point," Michelle says, sitting up, drawing the sheets up around her. "What if there comes a time when we won't be able to do that, because we simply won't be strong enough?"

"It doesn't have anything to do with being strong or weak," Amara says gently, taking Michelle's hand and kissing her fingertips, one by one by one. "The only thing that matters is that the battle must be fought."

"There's no need to get all deep," Michelle says with a laugh, as Amara sits up as well, pressing her lips to Michelle's shoulder. "I'm just saying, I'm worried. Doesn't it bother you too, sometimes?"

Amara doesn't answer right away. "Sometimes," she says, after a time. "But I don't like to think about things like that." She sighs, lies back down on the bed. "Do you still have the dreams?"

Michelle lies back down with her, rolling over onto her side to face her. "Of course. Every night for three years." She smiles bitterly. "At least that's one thing that's never changed."

Amara kisses her, moving forward, her mouth capturing Michelle's bottom lip. Michelle trails her fingers up and down the length of Amara's arm, as they break apart, grinning. And then their lips meet again, in the space between them, mouths moving in slow, gentle kisses. There's no need to rush, not at times like this, when they can lie in bed and press against each other and pretend that they're everything they're not. Not soldiers, not cousins, not anything.

"I love you," Michelle whispers in Amara's ear, after the blond's fallen asleep. She can't bring herself to say the words out loud when they're both awake.

;;

"You look nice," Michelle says, as they dress for school.

"You say that every day," Amara tells her, with a grin, as she tightens the knot on her tie. "Not that I don't mind hearing it. I think the boy's uniform suits me well, don't you?"

Michelle giggles. "Well, I certainly couldn't imagine you in a skirt," she says, as she puts on her lipstick, meeting Amara's eyes through her reflection in the mirror. She turns, setting her lipstick down on the vanity table, smiling at Amara. "Though I have to admit it would be amusing to see you try and walk in high heels."

"I'd fall flat on my face," Amara declares, stepping forward and putting her arms around the smaller girl. "I don't think it'd do for my image."

Michelle presses her face against Amara's chest. "Did you bind?" she asks curiously, noticing how flat it is.

Amara looks down at her. "I thought today I would. What," she says, "do you not like it?"

Michelle pokes her in the rib, pulling away and grinning. "Idiot, you know I like it," she says, standing on tiptoe and kissing Amara lightly, so as not to smudge her lipstick. "But only if you promise to come to bed like this tonight."

"Have I ever not?" Amara asks, kissing her again, not caring if she gets Michelle's lipstick on her.

"Mm, we have school," Michelle protests, albeit not very sincerely, as Amara presses her up against the bedroom wall and begins to trail kisses along her neck.

"We can be late," Amara murmurs in Michelle's ear, hands slipping under Michelle's school blouse and cupping her breasts through her bra. She can feel Michelle's nipples grow hard beneath her touch, and she thumbs them idly through the thin material. Michelle, meanwhile, tugs at Amara's tie, loosening it, her fingers flying to undo the buttons on her freshly ironed shirt. She presses her hands against Amara's undershirt, feeling the Ace Bandage beneath it, and Amara groans into the touch. She pushes Michelle's blouse up, helps her pull it off completely. She bows her head and kisses the tops of Michelle's breasts, as the aqua-haired woman moans and runs her fingers through blond hair.

"Bed," Michelle whispers, and they manage to make their way over to it, Amara falling on top of her, pressing her knee up between Michelle's thighs. Michelle's hand move to her pants, undoing the belt and button.

She pauses. "Do you need to -- ?"

"No," Amara pants, and Michelle wonders why she even needed to ask.

She tugs down the zipper on Amara's pants, then starts to tug them down as well. Amara shifts her hips, helping Michelle pull them down, before kicking them off onto the floor. Michelle strokes Amara's thigh through her dark-green boxers, before sliding her hand over and trailing her fingers across the front, lingering on the bulge created by the strap-on. Amara moans as she does so, and Michelle feels herself growing wetter, amazed that she's turned on so much just from this.

Amara pushes Michelle's green-plaid skirt up, until it's around her waist, reaching forward to tug off her plain cotton underwear, which eventually finds it way on the floor beside Amara's pants.

"Oh, God, I want you inside of me," Michelle groans, and it's more of a demand than a request, and Amara grins, kissing Michelle fiercely, as she positions herself between Michelle's thighs.

They've only fucked like this once or twice before. Amara's thrusts are still awkward and it still hurts a bit to do it like this, but Michelle thinks that she likes it this way best. She pulls Amara to her, likes the way their bodies fit together like this -- like they're supposed to. She clutches Amara's shirt, while Amara sucks on a spot on her neck.

"Don't leave marks," she manages to gasp out, and Amara pulls her mouth away with a groan, kissing her fiercely.

Eventually their hips fall into one rhythm, moving together. Amara pushes into her harder, her movements quickening. Michelle snakes her hand down between their bodies, fingers finding her clit and rubbing it desperately. With her free hand she clutches at the blond, trying to pull them closer together, because, oh God, she wants to come with Amara inside her. And then she does, the blood pounding in her ears, and she cries out. Shaking, she wraps her legs around her cousin, as Amara continues to thrust into her, trying to reach her own climax.

"Oh, God --" she moans, as Amara's hand dips down and brushes against her still sensitive skin, and Michelle bucks into the touch, biting down hard on her lip, drawing blood. She can taste it, coppery in her mouth, and when Amara bends her head down and licks the blood away, she thinks she may come again, if she doesn't die first.

"Please, Amara, please," she begs, though she's not sure what she's asking for, and the blond girl moans, thrusting into her in long, hard strokes, while her fingers continue to play with Michelle's clitoris.

And then she's coming again, spiraling over the edge, and this time Amara's coming with her, arching into her and gripping the headboard for support. They lie there for a moment afterward, breathing heavily, Amara lying limp on top of the aqua-haired girl, spent. Eventually, after she's caught her breath, she manages to work up enough strength to pull out and roll off of Michelle, collapsing onto the bed beside her.

"Fuck," she groans. " _Fuck_."

Michelle laughs and cups Amara's face in her hands, kissing her chastely. "Agreed."

When they finally do arrive at school, an hour and a half late, the secretary gives them an odd look. "Car trouble," Amara tells her, and she writes them both late passes, not even bothering to ask Amara when she's going to get her car fixed, despite the fact that this is the fifth time this month they've been late to school because of it.

First period's long over and second period is only partway through, so they take the long way to their respective classrooms, wanting to spend just a few more moments together. Amara grumbles something about how she wishes they were in the same class, but Michelle's heard it all before, so she simply smiles and takes her cousin's hand in her own, threading their fingers together and wishing that they could walk down the hall like this all the time, not just when it's deserted.

They part ways without a word. They always do.

;;

"Do you ever dream of dying?"

Amara, lying down on the couch, opens her eyes. "What sort of question is that?"

Michelle puts her bow back on the strings of her violin, resumes playing. She's making it up as she goes along, just playing whatever feels right. The notes flow out slow and smooth, like a lullaby. "It's just a question," she says quietly, after a bit, looking out the window, still playing.

"I see myself dying in dreams, sometimes, yes," Amara says, after a moment of hesitation. "The world ends and I'm lying there, broken and bloody on the street. But that's not what you mean, is it?"

Michelle doesn't answer right away, just keeps playing her slow, sad, made-up song.

"I think sometimes that death would be nice, after all this," she says, after a time. "I wouldn't mind giving myself up for this cause. I think it would be better than always having to fight and never being able to live."

She starts, as Amara suddenly gets up and embraces her from behind, wrapping her arms around her waist.

Amara's breath is warm on her neck, as she murmurs, "Don't talk about that sort of thing. To think of death as a comforting thing -- " she sighs. "If I was to die carrying out our mission, I wouldn't have any regrets."

"I would save you," Michelle whispers. "Even if it meant death."

"Don't," Amara says. "I wouldn't want you to. And you know I would only follow you."

;;

Michelle imagines herself, sometimes, a young girl standing on the beach gazing out into the ocean.

She is an ordinary girl, one who paints and plays the violin, like her, but has no drive, no ambition to be anything greater than what she already is. She is a decent student, but her lack of motivation keeps her from excelling where she should. There is no secret lover waiting in the shadows for her, a lover who kisses her finger tips, one by one, and steals her heart away all with one slight motion. And there is no destiny waiting for her, no cause that she must die for.

But she looks out into the ocean, wanting something more.

Michelle leans on Amara's car, the blond standing beside her, staring off into the sunset, the waves crashing on the rocks down below. She thinks that, perhaps it is nice to imagine living an ordinary life, but it is not the life for her. To be wandering through life, aimless and lacking drive. At least she has been given a purpose, even if it is crippling and over-bearing. Even if it has forced her to gives up her dreams.

She takes Amara's hand in her own, keeping her eyes fixed straight ahead.

"I love you," she says softly.

It's the first time she's said it out loud in a year and a half.

;;

There's something about the fights.

It might be the rush from it all that does it. The way adrenaline rushes through her, the way the soldier part of her just takes over. She can feel her planet power coursing through her veins, can feel it just on the tips of her fingers, can almost _taste_ it in her mouth, sharp and salty like the ocean. There's a sort of satisfaction, after it's over, too. The last thing she wants to do is to see someone get hurt because of her, but still, seeing the monster defeated, seeing the former possessed host lying unconscious on the ground -- it does something to her. The part of her that's normal, the non-soldier part of her, is disgusted by it. But the rest of her loves it.

There's always a lustful urge after the battle, too. She can see the sweat on Amara's forehead, the slight blush on her cheeks, and the urge to touch her is overwhelming. It's almost become a habit, now, the way they duck into an alley, the way Amara pins her against the cool cement wall and kisses her forcefully. Most of the time they manage to de-transform before going any further, the quick flash of bare skin only edging them on. But sometimes they can't even bear to wait that long, and Michelle bites down on Amara's shoulder as the blond jerks aside the crotch of her uniform and pushes two fingers roughly into her.

It's when they fuck like _this_ that Michelle likes it best.

Here they're not Amara and Michelle; they're simply Uranus and Neptune, two lonely soldiers fighting a battle that is bigger than they could ever hope to comprehend, and sometimes they're even less than that. Sometimes it feels like she's the ocean; Amara's breath on her neck, her tongue sliding against her skin, is like the wind skimming across the waves.

Michelle's usually the only one who comes at times like these. Later, in bed, she'll drag her tongue down across Amara's breasts, stomach, thighs, while she slides two fingers into her, thumb pressing against the blond's clit. She'll keep her fingers and tongue working until Amara is exhausted, until she's begging Michelle to stop.

They'll lie together in bed and Amara, sweaty and flushed and spent, will trace circles on Michelle's arms and write lines from love poems along her shoulders.

;;

"I can feel it," Amara says one day, at lunch. They're up on the roof; usually students aren't allowed up there, but Michelle was allowed to practice violin up there, per her own request, and Amara simply tagged along.

"What?" Michelle asked, opening up her bottle of water.

Amara, standing at the fence along the edge of the roof, looking out at the city, frowns and says, "The silence. It's getting closer; I can feel the time for it's arrival drawing near."

"So it's not just me then," Michelle says, feeling relieved. "The feelings of dread, the knowledge that the silence is fast approaching. You can feel it too. And you know what it means, too," she adds, after a moment.

Amara doesn't respond at first, just stays silent, staring out into the city, keeping her back to Michelle. Michelle wonders what Amara is thinking about, wonders if Amara feels the same thing that she does right now: scared, helpless. Tired. She wonders for a brief, fleeting moment, what would happen if she were to suddenly throw herself off the roof of the school building.

The dying is the part she wonders about most.

"What are you going to do about the Talismans?" Amara asks suddenly. Her voice is calm, steady. Unnerving. Michelle thinks that she sounds more like Sailor Uranus than Amara Tenoh.

Michelle starts, caught off guard. Then, gathering herself, she says, "Find them. At any cost."

"Even if it means taking a life? Or more?"

"The good of the many outweigh the good of the few," Michelle says, and the line feels tired. Rehearsed. She's not even sure if she even means it anymore. "Why, are you questioning our mission?"

"It's not that. It's just that saying you're willing to do something, and then actually _doing_ it, are two completely different things. And I don't think you'll hesitate when the time comes to act. But I like to hear you say it anyway."

Michelle sighs. "Amara . . . "

The blond turns. "I want you to kill me. If I hinder you at all in any way. If the time comes, and I'm holding you back, I want you to end my life. Say you will."

"I can't. You know I can't."

"Then you aren't loyal to the mission," Amara says.

Michelle empties her bottle of water out onto the ground, watches the water pool around her feet, some of it falling through cracks in the cement. Perhaps Amara is right, perhaps she is unwilling to go through with everything that they've planned. Perhaps she is selfish enough to want to save Amara's life instead of doing what is good for the rest of the world.

But instead of saying that, she says, "You're wrong, Amara."

She wonders if Amara knows that she's lying. A part of her hopes that she does.

;;

When they get the call from Eudial, Michelle knows it is the end. She knows that they're being lead into a trap, she knows that they will probably die. She wonders if Amara knows, but she doesn't ask. Michelle thinks that the asking would mean that it was true, that by saying all her thoughts out loud she would be confirming them to be the truth. It's easier to keep silent and not say anything. She watches Amara sit at the window, looking out into the rain, and she realizes that this may be the last time that she will ever do this -- stand in their apartment and gaze at her lover.

Last night she did not dream about the silence, the end of the world. She did not dream of anything at all, and this is how she knows that they are going to find the Talismans, but she is not sure at what cost they will come. She imagines a faceless, nameless person lying in the dirt, dead, their eyes, glassy and unblinking, staring up at the heavens. She imagines touching their cheek with her un-gloved hand, feeling how their skin is cold and clammy beneath her touch, while she whispers an apology for their death, hoping that maybe they'll understand that this is just how things must be, unfair as they may be.

Michelle takes Amara's hand in her own.

She doesn't say 'I love you,' even though she'd like to, and it's just one more things to add to the list of things she's too afraid to say. Maybe when this is all over, they'll be free again, and maybe then she'll say everything that she's kept bottled up inside. Maybe then she'll be able to say that word, 'love,' and not be afraid that she'll somehow jinx everything by saying the word out loud. Maybe Amara will wrap her arms around her and tell her not to be so serious, that destiny doesn't matter. Or maybe she won't, and maybe Michelle won't ever open up, and maybe things will stay exactly the same; they'll dance around in circles like this forever, afraid of getting too close, afraid of losing their faith in the idea that they're doing the right thing.

Standing outside the cathedral, she takes Amara's hand in hers; she needs to touch her one more time.

"Remember," she says, quietly, as they stand there, fingers intertwined. "When you're in there, you're on your own. I won't save you, and you won't save me. We'll carry on with our mission regardless of what happens."

Amara forces a smile, tries to brush it off. "Hey, why are you saying all this now?"

"You're right," Michelle agrees, with a tiny smile, as their hands fall apart.

;;

Despite what she's said, despite what she's tried to tell herself, when she sees Amara on the ground, the gun pointed at her chest, she forgets it all. She won't let Amara die. Amara's the strong one, Amara's the one who has to carry out the mission. Michelle can't do it all by herself. She's tired of all the fighting; she just can't do it any longer. Not by herself. She won't let Amara die because of the mission, even if she does possess a Talisman. She can't let it happen.

So she breaks free, and runs across the bridge, not knowing if she'll save Amara or not, but desperately wanting to try.

The guns go off, just like Eudial said they would. The bullets tear through her skin, rip her Sailor uniform to shreds, but it only slows her down. It doesn't stop her. And clutching one arm, blood dripping through her fingers, she keeps on walking. Amara shouts at her, tells her to stop; Michelle looks up, exhausted, and meets Amara's eyes for a brief instant. They're pleading; they don't just beg Michelle to stop -- they ask _why_.

Michelle hopes Amara knows; she can't say the words herself.

She stumbles forward, the guns out of ammunition now, and then she's right in front of Eudial, who, panicked, puts the barrel of the gun right against Michelle's chest and pulls the trigger. Michelle hears the slight click, feels the force of the gun as it shoots her, as she suddenly understands the emptiness that she'd seen before in all the other victims.

And in that instant, she realizes that she's going to die.

The thought is strangely comforting.


End file.
